Scarlet Memories
by Fate724
Summary: The story of a brief tryst between our favourite bleach blond vampire and a young psychic, post-'Chosen'. General spoliers for the episode, so beware if you haven't seen it.
1. Default Chapter

I moved to Sunnydale on a whim.   
  
I was tired of the small, go nowhere town I had lived in practically since the age of three. So, I saved every penny I made in one year and headed west. Of course, this was six months after The First Evil was brought down. No one wanted to be present when the worldended, myself included. Thanks to The Slayer, the world was preserved once again.   
  
Sunnydale was something of a ghost town after the battle. But soon enough its faithful residents returned and rebuilt the town to its former glory. Sunnydale was the same, and yet it was vastly different, forever marked by the evil that haunted it, decade after decade. Strangely enough, after The First was vanquished by The Slayer, The Hellmouth seemed to fade and grow dormant. Hardly any vampires or demons wreaked havoc. If anything, they became a part of that colorful community, a reminder of the tragic past and a sign of the unity the town itself had gained.   
  
As for the Slayer, she and her friends all disappeared or became recluses. Following several press conferences, her name and image was flashed upon every newspaper and television screen across the globe. For weeks, the world could speak of no one but the Slayer and her entourage, whom actually managed to bring the First Evil down, saving the world from utter ruin. Rumors say that she, her sister, and the witch live together in an apartment in San Francisco, but no one knows for sure. The Watcher had definitely returned to England and is now a much sought after authority on all things supernatural. He occasionally conducts lectures at Cambridge and Oxford University. It is a known fact that the one eyed friend is a contractor on the East coast. The second Slayer's fate is even shadier than the true Slayer's. There have been sightings of her all over the country, usually of her riding a huge, black Harley Davidson motorcycle. The vampire known as Angelus still remains in Los Angeles, continually seeking redemption. It is unknown if he and the Slayer had resumed their relationship. All signs point to no, in my opinion. As for the rest of the cast of characters, the principal, the potential slayers, etc., it has been reported that they are living normal lives now. As normal as can be expected, I suppose.   
  
Then, of course, there is the other vampire with a soul. Seemingly, he and he alone sacrificed himself to destroy The First and was never seen again. Most believe he is dead, now a figure of legend. But who can say for sure?Listen as I recount my tale to you, and I will tell you what became of William the Bloody, and the short tryst we shared.  
  
So, I came to Sunnydale to build a new life for myself. It seemed like a great adventure, and in arriving, I was almost daring the forces of evil to come and carry me off screaming into the night. None came, of course. Sunnydale was like any other town, except with neighboring demons and monsters, and psychic power, almost like electricity sparking on the air. If you concentrated, you could feel it dance upon your skin, your fingertips, a sure reminder of the Hellmouth and the First.  
  
I rented a decent apartment in the center of town and managed to score a job at a nearby coffee shop. The pieces of my new life were coming together rapidly, forming a contented picture of existence. One thing was missing, of course. Companionship. I was extremely lonely. One mustn't forget that Sunnydale is a very compact place. Steadily, I carried on. I developed a habit of stalking through the cemetery on my way home after the coffee shop closed at night. I fancied myself the Slayer and the lingering spirits of the dead were my allies. I have a wild imagination, can't you tell? 


	2. Part Two

One cool, rainy evening I went for my nightly stroll through the cemetery, communing with the resident spirits. Some would call me a sensitive, someone who can see and feel spirits and beings of that kind, a natural talent that had been with me since birth. It wasn't something that I concentrated on, but I didn't ignore it, either. Just a part of me, a facet of who I was, something that molded me as an individual.  
  
I was enjoying the damp evening, the rain soft, cool, and misty upon my skin, when from a distance, I saw a dark figure sprawled among the gravestones and monuments. At first, I thought I happened a upon a corpse, perhaps someone murdered, so I rushed towards it, my eyes struggling to make sense of what I was seeing. Unexpectedly, icy fingers grasped my bare ankle. I screamed, about to run for my life, when I heard the figure moan in pain. I quickly realized I was wrong. This person wasn't dead, just hurt seriously and probably needed help.  
  
"Are you all right?" I asked dumbly. Of course they weren't all right. They couldn't be, but that's all I could think to say. I reached out, touching the figure's shoulder gently. The figure shifted, not quite facing me, and I could make out the person's broad shoulders, tall lean frame, and long legs. Automatically, I knew it was male, a young man, his face and head covered by a dark hood. "Can you walk?" I helped the young man to his feet, supporting much of his considerable weight with my shoulder and arm. He was soaked straight through and freezing. "I'll get you to a hospital." I offered. "No!" He protested sharply, his voice gruff and sore sounding.   
  
I pressed him a bit more, but he vehemently refused any and all offers of medical attention. I couldn't just leave him where he lay, so I had no other choice but to take  
  
him to my apartment. A potentially dangerous decision, but I'm naive and young, what can I say. I had a gun under my bed, so I thought that pretty much guaranteed  
  
my safety. I was prepared to use it, if I needed to protect myself.   
  
It took time and effort, but we made it to my tiny apartment. I helped him to the overstuffed couch in my sitting room and immediately helped him strip off his soaking wet clothes. I stopped once I reached his boxer shorts, suddenly feeling very shy and a bit uneasy. He was barely conscious, but I wasn't completely at ease with stripping a complete stranger naked, even if his life was at stake.   
  
I found several heavy winter blankets in my storage closet and grabbed hot water, tea bags, and some bandages for my wounded house guest. As I went back into the sitting room, I managed to flick the lights on for the first time since I arrived home.  
  
When the light illuminated his face, my heart leapt to my throat, and I couldn't move in my astonishment. I knew his features well. I had admired them from afar time after time. The shock of bleach blond almost white hair, dramatic, dark brows, beautiful, chisled cheek bones, and the arrogant, sensual mouth were all unmistakable. The mug of hot water slipped from my hand and shattered across the floor. I clapped my hand over my mouth, muffling a loud gasp.   
  
I couldn't believe it, I was sure my vision was deceiving me somehow. He was supposed to be gone, dead. It was a well known fact that he heroically sacrificed   
  
himself to save the world from The First. That was six months ago...it would have been impossible for him to survive, but here he was, before my eyes, lying half dead on my couch, all the proof I could ever need.   
  
After fifteen minutes of being absolutely stunned, I returned to earth and busied myself by cleaning up the mess I made.  
  
Then, I allowed myself to look at him more closely. He looked just as I remembered, and it set my heart thudding in my chest. The left side of his face bore a horrible  
  
blackened mark, like his skin was burned, and there were bloody scapes, marks, and burns traversing all over the smooth white skin of his body. I swiftly covered his body with the blankets, thankful that his muscular form was hidden from my sight.  
  
I set to cleaning the red, blackened burns on his face, pressing gently with antiseptic, and covering them with ointment and bandages. He stirred just as I was finishing, mumbling, semi-awake. His eyes fluttered open and looked up at me, weakly making out my features. I was almost devastated by that look, and I glanced away. "Don't move." I said.   
  
"You're in my apartment. I just bandaged your face. You should be all right if you just rest. I'll go pop your clothes in the dryer and try to find something for you to eat." I  
  
knew his gaze was heavy on me as I gathered up the bandage wrappers, antiseptic, and his clothes, but I didn't dare look back.   
  
I was lucky enough to have a massive steak in the fridge. I squeezed the blood out of it as well as I could into a glass and made a mental note to run by the butcher's in the morning. I threw his clothes into the dryer and as I walked back to the sitting room, his eyes followed my every move. My legs shook and my breath fought to come  
  
fast in my throat.   
  
He gazed up at me from his nest on the couch, his eyes intense and glowing like he was fevered. "Here." I said, handing the glass of blood to him. "I'm afraid it's all  
  
I have at the moment. I...I hope it's enough."  
  
He raised the glass to his lips, his eyes never leaving my face. I stared back unwaveringly. I was proud of myself, since I felt like fainting. He took a sip gingerly. I could definitely tell he was weak.   
  
"Your name?" He asked, his voice a bit better, much more normal, the voice I remembered.   
  
"Paige." I answered. I waited for him to finish the blood hoping that he wouldn't speak to me anymore. I was light headed and didn't want to sound like a complete fool. Luckily, he didn't say a word. He returned the glass to me.  
  
"I'm going to bed." I announced. "The first room on the right if you need me. And, just for your information, I keep a pistol under my pillow. Goodnight."   
  
The gun wasn't actually under my pillow. It's under my bed. I just wanted to seem tough just in case he tried anything. I doubted he would considering the shape he was in, but I didn't know how the past six months had affected him.  
  
I walked straight to my room without looking back. That night I barely slept and fantasized about the wounded man sleeping in my sitting room. I opened my  
  
eyes and glanced at the digital clock at my bedside, and saw it was just past three in the morning when I felt the side of the bed shifting. I glanced around in the dark   
  
nervously, and found myself being forced down upon the bed, warm hands pressed to my shoulders. I gasped as his body made contact with my bare skin, his mouth hovering over mine. His hands roamed shamelessly over me, and I couldn't help but tremble, my pulse pounding so hard, my body aching with anticipation. Almost painfully slowly, he lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me, hard and sensually. I moaned into his mouth, the feeling such a shock that it rocked me down to the tips of my toes. I awoke in my bed, moaning, twisted in covers, sweating and alone. 


	3. Chapter Three

I watched as the pale fingers of dawn peeked through the semi sheer drapes of my bedroom with aching eyes. I didn't sleep at all and when I did, I had fevered dreams, dreams that brought a blush to my cheeks when I tried to recall them and they   
  
hit me back in lurid detail. I was in no shape to work that day, so I called off. That way I could keep a close eye on my new house guest. I wasn't quite comfortable with him being alone in my apartment.  
  
I showered quickly and dressed, not wanting to walk around the apartment in my pajamas and with my hair standing on end. I looked in on him briefly on my way to the kitchen to make coffee, and he was peacefully asleep on the couch, the blankets  
  
covering all but a patch of his bright hair upon the pillow. I retrieved his clothing from the dryer, folding it neatly and placing it near the couch so he could dress when he awakened. I slipped out the door and down the street to the butcher's so I could get some proper nourishment for him. I figured he would need it above all things to heal  
  
himself completely. Who knows what he faced all those months ago. I knew he sacrificed himself to destroy The First, but I could barely imagine what that would have been like, what he went through to achieve that. It blew my mind, utterly  
  
and completely.   
  
I was surprised to see that he was awake when I returned. He sat in a tangle of blankets and pillows, strong, scarred shoulders bare, looking at me with bright, all seeing eyes. I blinked and moved toward the kitchen, my heart turning over in my chest, wondering why the hell he had such an overwhelming affect on me. I hated it, and a fierce longing twisted itself inside me. "I got you some proper...food." I said  
  
cheerfully, unloading my carrier bags on the kitchen counter. I filled a glass with still warm blood and gave it to him, avoiding his eyes.  
  
"Thank you." I heard him mutter, the words barely audible. I chanced a look his way as he drank. "How are the burns doing?" I asked. "Need more bandages?"  
  
"Better." He replied. "I don't think so." He gulped down the blood, quickly, as if   
  
old strength was returning to him. I refilled the glass, and leaned against a chair facing the couch, half watching him as he finished, not knowing what to say, and trying not to trip over my own feet. He passed the glass to me, and he fell completely quiet, a silence that filled the apartment and hung in the air between us. I didn't dare speak or ask questions. I rinsed his glass, streaked with blood, the sound of water flowing in the sink echoing against the walls, meshing with the thudding of my heart.   
  
I strolled back into the sitting room, and I watched him in his silence, his eyes filling with a profound pain I couldn't begin to understand or even be able to explain. He turned his gaze to me and I was frozen like a deer in headlights. I couldn't help but stare back at him, looking ashen and unbelievably devastated, covered in my bandages and blankets.   
  
"Did she survive?" He asked, his eyes shining, boring into me. It took but a second for me to realize who he was alluding to, and my chest became heavy and I felt for him immediately.   
  
"Yes." I said. "...so much news coverage afterwards. No one knows exactly where she is...there have been sightings, but not for months...I think...I think that maybe she doesn't want to be found...after all that..happened..."  
  
My voice sounded so weak, so unconvincing, and I mentally kicked myself.   
  
"Is she...in Los Angeles with..." he began, but I interupted him.  
  
"No...no one knows for sure, but I...I don't think so..there's no proof really...it's a big mystery...her whereabouts..." I stammered on again, and the pure anguish in his expression striking me to the heart. And idea suddenly popped in my head. "Wait..." I went into my room and recovered my laptop computer. I opened it, placing it upon his  
  
blanketed lap and hooking it up. "If you do a quick search, you can probably find out everything you want to know."  
  
He nodded, barely glancing at me, and was glued to my computer for the rest of the day and into the evening.  
  
I let him alone and went to bed, wondering if I should call off another day from work and say I was ill, I was still feeling vastly tired and overwhelmed. I fell into a deep, dark, death-like sleep. No dreams, no erotic images, just velvet blackness encasing  
  
me in warmth and security.   
  
A soft, muffled sound attacked my ears through the wafer thin walls of the apartment,  
  
and my eyes fluttered open. I am a light sleeper, so right away my first instinct was to close my eyes again and drift back into the void. But I heard the noise again, this time  
  
higher and some what clearer. I rolled over in my bed, listening hard. A few moments flew past, and there the noise was again, a soft, miserable sound, seemingly coming from the direction of my sitting room.   
  
I left my bedroom and padded toward the sitting room, listening hard all the while. The sound was more constant now, louder, and I could recognize it...weeping...soft,  
  
hushed, but masculine weeping. Not wild, uncontrolled wailing but gentle hopeless sobs.   
  
My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw him, awake as I was on the couch, head in his hands, crying. I stopped where I stood, not wanting to intrude, my heart breaking for him, when he turned and saw me. I wanted to walk away, go back  
  
to bed, forget that I even heard him, but the moment he looked at me, my instincts took over, and I gave myself to a powerful impulse.   
  
I knelt a the side of the couch and put my arms around his broad, shaking shoulders. To my astonishment, he pulled me closer, and he sobbed softly against my throat, and I held him, held him tightly to me, running a soothing hand through the silkiness of his hair. I breathed the scent of him deeply, holding him a long time, until he quieted. We didn't dare let our gazes meet. My hands slid over the smooth skin of his arms  
  
as I let him go, a sensation I will never forget, and will always cherish. Still, to this day, I don't know how I did it, actually released him from that embrace, and returned to my lonely bed. 


	4. Chapter Four

The next morning I woke up and rushed out to work. I didn't even see him and didn't really want to. I was embarassed because of the night before, though I didn't really know why. I tried to think about it, and it all just seemed too intimate, too soon. I acted upon an impulse and ended up mortifying myself.   
  
Not good, not good at all. I made a mental note to have more control over myself in the future if I planned on keeping my head and not making an idiot out of myself on a regular basis.   
  
I came home that night, and he was wide awake, his nose practically pressed against the screen of my lap top. It seemed like he wanted to forget what happened the previous evening as well. He barely looked at me and hardly said a word. I was  
  
fine with that, and let it be.   
  
The next few days were silent, but soon, we began talking, everyday before I went to work and in the evening when I returned. Occasionally he accompanied me on my nightly walks. We talked about everything you could imagine.   
  
He even told me what happened after the battle with The First, at least what he could remember. He said once the Slayer left him with the seal, he felt incredible pain, and truly believed he was dead for a time. He remained in a sort of limbo between worlds for the longest time before he was deposited in the cemetery by some magical, mysterious force. He recalled awakening, crawling, calling for help for a long time,  
  
and obviously collapsing for who knows how long until I found him.   
  
I was enthralled listening to him speak of such things, so I didn't know exactly how to  
  
respond. What could I say, I'm sorry? Tell me more? It all seemed so inappropriate. So, I just listened, listened to every single word. He talked a lot, like he missed it, missed having someone to talk to. Or maybe, that was just me. Either way, I hung onto every word, every syllable. He was my friend, at least that's how I saw him. A very alluring, attention-grabbing friend, but a friend just the same.   
  
Every now and then, his eyes would cloud over and drown in a profound, far reaching sorrow, I couldn't even begin to understand. I knew deep down who he was thinking of, and an icy hand of hard realization squeezed my heart achingly, painfully. It seemed so silly...I could never measure up to HER, but still, pangs of jealousy shot into me.  
  
William remained my houseguest for several weeks. Seeing him everyday became something of pleasure for me. He walked about the apartment freely, like it was his as well. When he left, he was only gone for a few hours and always returned with some interesting story. I didn't know what to think or do about the situation. It wasn't that I disliked him being in my home, but he was...well...a distraction.  
  
He had a hold and effect on me that I couldn't control or deny. I would be listening to one of his wild stories when he would come in at three in the morning, and my eyes would settle upon his mouth, his lips moving, and I would immediately think about how those lips would taste upon mine...ultimately missing half of his story. Not a night passed that I didn't have a dream about him slipping into my bed and well...you get the picture...it's so embarassing. I knew I was slowly growing infatuated with him...and I didn't know how to handle it.   
  
Then, one evening when I came in from work, everything changed.   
  
I was exhausted from the day, my nerves frazzled and my muscles screaming. Just as I came through the door, I heard music filling the apartment. William had turned my  
  
stereo on and was playing one of my CD's. I couldn't recognize it right away. As I hung my jacket and purse, I listened, the full electronic bass pumping in my ears. It was one of my old Trance CD's I bought when I was in England. Absently, I sung some of the lyrics...  
  
Don't try to run away...  
  
cause I understand what you're feeling...  
  
Don't try to run away...  
  
cause I understand the pain that's tearing you apart...  
  
Just stay here with me...  
  
and so you will see...  
  
that you belong to me...  
  
we will be free...  
  
I stopped humming, and saw William walking towardsme, greeting me warmly.   
  
"What's with the music?" I asked casually. "I didn't think you'd mind." He replied. "Makes me think of home."   
  
"Yeah." I agreed, not thinking of that. "I guess so."  
  
I paused, not wanting to meet his gaze. I was tired, and all my defenses were down. "Listen, I'm going to go and have a shower...I'm zonked...I think I'm just going to  
  
go right to bed..."  
  
"Sure." He said gently. I turned towards the bathroom, but his voice made me face him again. "Paige..."  
  
Give your heart...  
  
feel like a bird in the sky, flying on the wings of love...  
  
Come into my open arms...  
  
Don't try to run away...  
  
I had no choice. I looked up at him. I regretted it as soon as I saw his eyes, his expression, his beautiful face. I longed to run my fingers along the contours of  
  
his face, press my body to his. I watched his lips as he spoke, standing so near that I could feel the heat rising from his body.  
  
"I've been meaning to thank you." He began.  
  
"For what?" I asked breathlessly.   
  
"For saving my life...pretty much. I might not be standing here if it wasn't for you."  
  
"I didn't do anything more than any other person would do. You obviously needed help."  
  
"It's more than that, you must know that. You've listened to me...soothed my mind when I felt like going insane. Truth is, I'm not sure if I'm completely all right yet..."  
  
"God, I know...I don't blame you...you've...you've been through so much..." I stammered as his direct gaze made my lower body tighten. I was too close...  
  
much too close.  
  
"Thank you, Paige." He repeated, his voice enveloping me in tingling warmth, my breath threatening to come fast, my pulse speeding.   
  
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could make a sound, he leaned in and kissed me. My body froze immediately, my heart thudding so fast, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I gasped against his kiss, his lips soft and gentle,  
  
his arms encircling me, pulling me against him, his scent engulfing my senses. I couldn't believe what was happening...I thought I was in a dream, but I reached  
  
out, and he was there, under my fingertips, his silky hair, his skin, his body, solid and muscular.   
  
I gave myself up to the sensation, getting lost in the embrace. The kiss deepened, and I melted into him, his flavor intoxicating as his tongue massaged mine. I matched his fervor, and in my excitement, ended up nicking my tongue upon his fang. The pain  
  
was sharp and immediate as my blood seeped into his mouth. The taste of my blood upon his tongue enflamed his bloodlust, and William clasped me tighter to his body, almost to the point of pain. He kissed me hard and fast.   
  
I made a tiny sound of protest, but couldn't make myself push him away. I was turned on beyond anything I have ever experienced, but at the same time, I was terrified down to my very being.   
  
William abruptly pushed me away, and the force of his strength nearly landed me on the floor. My back smacked against a wall of the apartment, my hair disheveled, my breath heavy.   
  
He kept his distance from me, wiping at his mouth rapidly with his hand. "I'm sorry...I..."  
  
I shook my head. "No, no, it's all right, it was an accident, honestly..."  
  
He tried to protest, but I interrupted, shutting him up for a time. I didn't want him to regret kissing me, even if it was unexpectedly dangerous. Tasting my blood and the flavor of him on my tongue, and his scent wafting from my skin, I went to the  
  
bathroom. I had to wash him away before I went mad. 


	5. Chapter Five

I slipped inside the bathroom as quickly as I could, closing the door behind me. I ran the shower, adjusting the water's temperature, still shaking from my encounter with William. I could smell his cigarette, the scent wafting up from the crack between the door and the tiled floor of the bathroom. I knew he was upset, he usually only smoked, at least around me, when he was bothered or need to think.   
  
I stripped off my work clothes, and looked in the mirror. My skin was pale, my pulse still racing with fright and desire. Opening my mouth, I examined my tongue. The small gash still bled a bit and stung my taste buds. Grimacing, I gargled a mouthful of water and stepped into the shower.   
  
Steam filled the small bathroom as I let the hot water stream over me, soothing my aching muscles and ragged nerves. The water helped calm me, and I decided to just forget what happened, just as I forgot how I comforted him in the middle of the night. I'm sure he would do the same. This way, everything was so much easier, so much simpler. I didn't understand why he did it. Why did he kiss me, what did I do, what happened? Not that I regretted it, except for the fact that it turned out to be extremely awkward. I almost wondered what I could do to trigger such a reaction in him again, but scolded myself for such thoughts.   
  
I shampooed my hair, soaped my body, the movements comforting me and relaxing me slowly but surely. Even after all the suds were rinsed away, I remained in the shower, the hot water running down my naked body, closing my eyes and savoring the sensation. I sighed, taking a breath, feeling the air move in and out of me, finally, completely relaxed.   
  
I heard the bathroom door open and shut slowly, but I didn't pay it any attention. I was  
  
almost in a drugged stupor from my twenty minute shower, and didn't even think of locking the door when I first came in. I ignored the sound completely, but then, the fogged, glass door of the shower slid open, and I stared into the white steam surrounding me, my mind blank, not frightened, just uncomprehending.   
  
Through the white clouds, I soon saw William's face, his hair blending into the whiteness of the steam. I was beyond surprised, but my feet remained where they were, the water coursing down upon us. After a long moment of staring at each other intensely, I came to my senses, opening my mouth to speak, to scream at him, to tell him in no uncertain terms to leave. He held one long finger to my lips before I could say a thing, quieting my protests with one smooth gesture. He swept me against him, my bare wet breasts crushed into the hardness of his chest, and kissed me until I thought I would go mad.   
  
I was astonished. I didn't freeze, I didn't tense up. I kissed him back furiously, running my hands all over him, everywhere, glorying in the feel of his warm, wet flesh.  
  
I traced my fingers down his chest and into the indentations of his washboard stomach, and lower, teasing him along the waistband of the jeans he wore, though they were soaking wet, clinging to his form. I undid the fly, pulling them down his narrow hips and depositing them on the floor. I shuddered as he squeezed his naked body to mine, his tongue probing and caressing my own. I could feel him, long, hard and ready, prodding my hip, and I reached down, putting my hand around him. He made a soft sound of pleasure, laced with frustrated anticipation, and backed me against the tiled wall of the tiny shower.  
  
He grabbed my wet thighs, wrapping my legs about his waist, lifting me so that the wall was a source of leverage. Roughly, he thrust inside me, and I gasped, loud and sharp into his ear. It was a beautiful pain, he so large, nearly filling me to the breaking point. He moaned softly, finding me scalding hot and soaking wet, closing around him so tightly. Soon, he moved with smooth, expertly timed strokes, starting slowly at first, and building a strong momentum, taking my pleasure higher and higher. Cries and moans tore from my lips as I fell into his rhythm, rising to meet him, until I could barely take it anymore. The orgasm was upon me before I even realized it, lighting every nerve in my body with the most exquisite pleasure I had ever experienced. I screamed, scraping my nails down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake. He echoed me, his cry of ecstasy muffled against my neck, so that I could feel the vibrations along my skin.   
  
We slid to the floor of the shower in a heap, him still inside of me, our limbs entwined. We stayed that way, until our pulses returned to normal, and the water ran  
  
cold. I attempted to stand and stop the shower, but I could barely get to my feet. William picked me up with unimagined ease, wrapping me in a big thirsty towel.  
  
I remember vividly him carrying me to my bed, and setting me upon it, him leaning over me, smoothing my hair back, and looking at me with such a tenderness,  
  
tenderness that made my heart ache with a dull, almost chronic pain. I looked up at him, knowing that I could never actually keep him, not really, that he gave himself  
  
to someone else long ago, and there was nothing I could do to keep him with me except hope that he would stay, though deep inside, I knew he wouldn't, and it was  
  
only a matter of time until well....  
  
I sighed, reach up and caressing his face with my hand.  
  
He was so beautiful, so unbelievably perfect, I couldn't get over it. We just stared at each other, not saying a word, and not really needing to. I cupped his face in both of my hands, pulling him down to me, and kissed him, softly, lingeringly, passionately, and it started all over again, a dangerously absorbing cycle...We made love three more times that night... 


	6. Chapter Six

And that's how it was for several days. I'm not sure how many. Obviously, I lost count. Once the dam of our lust had broken, bursting forth, it washed over us, impossible to contain. I would awaken every morning, hardly able to stand upright, weak and trembling from all our furious love making. I was deleriously happy, sore and shaky, but happy. Every time William took me into his arms, I felt like I was in a dream, and never wanted to wake up. I couldn't get enough. I nearly lost my job at least twice, but  
  
I didn't care. It was so worth it.   
  
I remember, how one evening, I came home, exhausted from my day, and missing him terribly. When he greeted me at the door, he didn't utter a word, he just grabbed me, drugging me with slow, melting kisses, pushed me to the wall, and took me from behind. Just thinking about it makes me shudder...  
  
But of course, as much as I wanted it to, this didn't last. Our passion tapered off, as most things do in life, well, at least his did. It got to the point where I barely saw him, and when I did, he didn't speak to me, much less kiss me. He went away for three straight days, and I hadn't heard a word from him. I was going crazy, thinking he was dead, terrified that I was never going to see him again, when he showed up in the apartment just before dawn.   
  
I screamed at him, smashing things. He tried to settle me down, but didn't even attempt to explain his actions. He didn't so much as say goodbye when he strode toward the front door for the last time. I launched myself at him, crying hysterically, trying to prevent him from leaving. He merely removed my hands from his coat, effortlessly, looked into my eyes, and kissed me, hard and bruising. I nearly let myself get swept away in him, in the moment, in the feeling of his hard body, the taste of his lips, his scent enveloping me, but once I realized what was happening, I pulled away from him, probably the hardest thing I had ever done, and slapped him with all of my strength across his handsome face.   
  
He stopped, and stared at me a moment, his eyes holding that old tenderness I used to see when he looked at me, and then as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He turned away, opening the door, disappearing from my life forever.   
  
A dark emptiness filled me at the moment, once I truly realized he was gone, and the tears flooded my eyes. I didn't stop weeping until all my tears were gone.  
  
As time passed, I got a little better. I'm not as devastated as I once was, and my life went on, but he indelibly left his mark on me. He captivated me, completely, utterly, and still to this day, I think about him, dream about him, yearn for him. Through time, I gained a better understanding of why he left and why he left the way he did. He didn't tell me why he was going because he knew I already did, though I didn't  
  
realize it at the time. He never said the words because he knew instinctively that they would have hurt me, cut me to the heart. I've always known where he went and why, I  
  
just never let myself accept it. He's searching for something, someone, the person he gave his heart to long ag, and I respect that. I could never stand in his way.   
  
Every now and I then I'll be walking down a crowded street on my way to work, and I'll see bleach blond hair, beautiful, sweeping details of his face, the strong, sure  
  
strides of his body. I'll look closer and realize, in a split second, it wasn't actually him, just another random guy. I'll be crushed for the rest of the day.  
  
Sometimes, I'll be up late after work, sitting in the kitchen, and I'll smell the familiar scent of his favorite brand of cigarettes waft through the window. My heart will race, and I will rush to the window, no matter how ridiculous it seems, even to me, to look out into the street.  
  
Every single time I'm disappointed, he's never there, leaning on a street lamp, cigarette in hand, his smile a wicked challenge. I don't think I'll ever learn... 


End file.
